Alchemists on the Battlefield
by konohasorangesheep
Summary: An epilogue of sorts to the series Fullmetal Alchemist. It plays on how Ed says he and Al need to help others and stop focusing on themselves. I don't know if it will be to the extent of T in terms of violence and language, but we'll see.
1. Chapter 1

Explosions. Gunfire. Death. It all seemed like a very subtle dream to Al. Everything was blurred to him, nothing was in focus. He couldn't feel his body, it had become numb, but he attempted to control it anyways. He stood and stumbled forward.

_Things aren't the same here._

All he could think of was the letter. And he didn't know why, but his mind kept drifting away from the action and back to it, over and over again. Somebody was shouting at him. They seemed close, but far away. He felt something tug his shoulder, and he moved with the motion.

_It seems as if the laws of equivalent exchange don't exist here._

Al saw an enemy in the distance, and he shot at it. The man tugging him tapped his gun, and Al ceased firing. He couldn't see if he had killed the enemy or not, but he felt the ground shake with the slightest thud, and he had a feeling he had succeeded and his shots had hit.

_You can't think of things like that here. You'll go mad._

The tugging ceased, and Al toppled over something. He felt below him, and warmth crept up his arm like insects. The warmth ended, and he stood to continue forward, or whatever direction he was headed.

_When you kill a man on the battlefield, he receives nothing in return. It is simply kill or be killed._

Al heard mumbles around him, but he understood nothing. For all he knew, he could be trampling into enemy territory. He didn't care, because he knew that, whatever he did, he would die if he stopped moving.

_We could do so much more at home._

He knew he could give up. He could stand still and let himself be taken to a much more peaceful place, at least that was what he believed. He began to slow down.

_Here, a single man can't do anything. _

Al had almost ceased moving entirely. He knew he was in a ditch, so he lowered himself down, guns blazing around him. A soldier flew into the sky above him, while his foot landed with a 'thump' onto the ground in front of him. Al's senses were so dim, he couldn't smell the scent of blood that he was sure had filled the air, or the sharp sting of stench coming specifically from the soldier's missing foot.

_One man can't make a difference. It takes the force of many to change this world. You or I can't do as much as we planned. However, we can rely on those around us to aid us in our efforts. We aren't all here for the same reason, but we all want good to come out of this._

Al felt a sharp, and yet dulled by his lack of sense, throb on his head as it was shoved into the ground. He could vaguely made out the words "Get down!" from the soldier next to him as a tank rolled over the ditch. Had his companion not come, he would have been crushed like a rat.

_The best a man can do in this hell-hole is to save the man next to him. All we can do is lift one another's spirits. If one soldier's depressed, it wears off on the rest of us. _

"Come on, man, get moving!" The soldier shouted at Al. He called something to someone across the way, and Al assumed he was asking for help. He was hoisted up underneath both arms and dragged across the field of war.

_Keep moving forward with your comrades. Don't die on me, Alphonse. _

"Elric! Come on, buddy, you're gonna get left behind!" Al slowly forced himself to stand as his ears rung and sound came back to his world like an avalanche.

"That's it, get yourself up!" The second soldier that had helped Alphonse up shouted over the shells. Al nodded, and followed him into the German's town. The three crouched low as they trotted by the side of the road closer and closer to the destination.

They had reached the middle of the small town when Alphonse took cover in a barn. He reloaded slowly, taking time to catch his breath. Suddenly, he heard shouts outside and quick gunfire. "They've got support!"

"Enemy tanks!"

"Gaaahhh!" Al felt the ground shake and tremble, as if the world itself feared the enemy.

"We're outnumbered!"

"Retreat!"

Al stood and dashed towards the door to the barn. He opened it to see bullets fill the wood, barely missing him. He closed the barn door and pressed his back up against it. He heard German shouts. He could just barely understand the language, but he got bits and pieces. "Two... door... guard... kill..." Al heard steps coming towards him. He saw a ladder going into an upper loft of the barn, and he quickly climbed up it. He dived into a stack of hay, and remained there as the German troops opened the door and surveyed the area. Al heard one climb up the ladder.

"Do you see anything?" One asked. After surveying the loft for a few seconds, the other soldier replied 'no' and climbed back down the ladder. Al had to hide a relieved sigh. He contemplated what he was going to do.

After a while, the German soldiers were ordered to leave the building. Al took the time to make a better, and more comfortable, hiding spot. He would wait until nightfall to find a way out, since it was more likely for someone to stumble in at the moment.

Night came at a sluggish pace. Al grew cold, as it was fall. He showered his warm breath on his hands like a mist, and warmth streamed down his arms, but then the cold would overtake him with double the sting.

He glanced in each direction once, then twice, and then quietly climbed down the ladder. As he reached the door, he pressed his ear up against the ice cold wood. He heard no voices outside, but just to be sure, he threw a wood chip at a building across from him through a window in the barn. One soldier trotted into view from the window towards the noise, and Al thanked himself for making sure no one was outside. He quickly sneaked back to the door, and slowly opened it. He peered through the small crack he had made, and saw no one. He opened it a bit more, and was drawn back by the sight. German soldiers lined the walls, each sleeping. Al shut the door at a fast but silent pace and backed up to a post in the barn. He slid his backside down it, exasperated by his dilemma.

Night turned into day, and Alphonse awoke to realize he had fallen into a deep and calming sleep. However, his realization of the world returned to him, and he found himself hungry, thirsty, weakened, sore, and overall miserable. He searched his pack for food, and only found a few pieces of bread. He ate one, and stored the rest back in his sack. He stood, his legs screaming for mercy, and surveyed the barn. There were two big doors on each end, about five separate windows spread throughout the walls. One was in the upper loft, the rest on the floor. There were eight stalls lined up with uneven space in between on each side of the room. No animals were inside, except for a barn cat, which Al didn't expect would cause much trouble.

The day went by as Al wondered how he was going to get out. Some soldiers came inside to check the building every once in a while, but Al always stayed hidden from them.

_Don't die on me_

Another night came, and Al decided he was going to attempt an escape. There was an open spot in the road where Al couldn't see any guards. A window led right onto it. With darkness as his veil, Alphonse hoisted himself through the window with one arm, and dashed across the open road and pressed himself tightly against the next building.

_Don't die on me_

He crept along the side of the house and ran across a street to the next one, and the next. When he came to the third crossing of his journey, he missed the tank coming toward him. He couldn't get out of the way by the time he reached the middle of the intersection. He did something so instinctive, it felt like his comrade had shoved him onto the ground again instead of himself. He collapsed onto the hard dirt, and remained there as the tank passed him over. Dust and earth flew into his face and covered his body. By the time the vehicle passed, you wouldn't have been able to notice that someone had been underneath it.

_Don't die on me_

As soon as Al was positive that no one was around, he stood back up and started dashing towards the end of the town, desperate to get out. He heard shouts coming from the Germans behind him. There were footsteps, constantly gathering together like a beginning storm. Then gun shots sounded like lighting all around him, each one closer to him than the last.

_Don't die on me_

Al's heart was pounding like the constant beating of thunder. The only thing he focused on was his speed. He never thought of the placement of his footing, shooting back at the enemy, or hiding somewhere. He needed to get away, as far away as possible.

_Don't die on me_

After an eternity of running, Al spotted the forest where his comrades had been hiding. "Hey, it's the enemy!" A man shouted.

"What are they doing!" Another added.

"Doesn't matter, kill 'em!"

"Stop! It's one of ours! Don't shoot!" There was a moment of silence among the men, then commotion erupted.

"Elric!"

"It's Elric!"

"Come on, Elric, run!" Men continued shouting and encouraging Al, wanting him to make it back alive. Al continued running, the encouraging didn't effect him. Suddenly, he felt a sharp pain in his right leg, and he stumbled and fell. The soldiers yelled at him to get up, and to keep moving forward. He slowly lifted himself as he felt a second throbbing in his left shoulder. His arms left him, and he was face down in the grass.

_Don't die on me, Alphonse._

Al stood and continued, his feet moved like that of a newborn cow. He swayed back and forth. Finally, he made one last leap into his comrades' ditches.

"Don't you die on me either, brother."


	2. Chapter 2

The men were in good cheer. They had conquered one of the German's bases, which was in a large village, and had found plenty of food and supplies. Some ammunition and weapons were even found hidden underneath some boards in the town hall. The injured were laid down comfortably in the church floors, while the healthy ones ate and drank the night away in several different buildings. In one of these said buildings, the men were laughing the hardest. There were empty bottles of beer in one corner stacked on top of each other. Table and chairs had been set up for sake of comfort. A radio was playing music pretty clearly. Only one man hadn't had anything to drink, and hadn't been jumping around, throwing darts, and doing the crazy things the other soldier were doing.

The men began individually explaining why and how they joined the army. One turned to the man in the corner. "Hey, Elric, how'd you get here?" The room went silent, and everyone turned to the soldier. They were all curious, but doubted he would answer.

Edward Elric turned to the group. They almost shivered by the sight of him. His hair wasn't in a buzz cut, like most of the other men. It was short and in braid at the end. His eyes were golden, but they were hard and cold as ice. A small amount of stubble had gathered around his face. His fists were hard, like they could punch through a wall without any damage to themselves. He normally read old letters in his spare time. People never knew who they were from, but they noticed that he read the same ones over and over again. That's what he had been doing now, when the soldier asked him the question.

After a long pause, the soldiers excited, Edward began to answer. "I joined for the same reason as some of you. I wanted to make a difference."

The men looked at one another, when one decided that he would try to hammer more out of the mysterious young man. "You seem kind of young to join." After another pause, Ed replied.

"There's really no point in waiting. One soldier is just as likely to die as man next to him, regardless of his age.

"Whatcha reading there? I coulda sworn I've seen you look at that before." The man who asked was pretty wreckless, from the country, and he was tough. His name was Jackson Michaels.

"It's a letter."

"Well I'm not stupid! I know that, but from who? Is it yer girl?" The men laughed, and Ed chuckled.

"No, it's from my brother." Edward lowered his head. A few men closed their eyes and nodded with understanding. Before anyone could ask another question, Ed found an excuse to leave. "It's late, we should probably get some sleep. Who knows when the Germans could attack."

Ed got up and walked upstairs, bringing his gun with him. He plopped himself down on one of the few beds, and closed his eyes. He was ready to sleep. It had been a long day.

Ed dreamed of his time as a child back in Rasembol. It had been years, and yet he seemed to dream of those times more and more vividly than anything. However, his dreams morphed into different times. As he played with Al, his brother was suddenly enveloped in a suit of armor as his father stood by doing nothing. His mother ran to help Al, when she suddenly collapsed and died. The horror continued until the morning, when Ed awoke to the single shot of a rifle, meant to awake the soldiers.

Ed sat up in his bed. He had been sweating. He reached into his pocket and grabbed a picture of Al and himself from the day before they joined the army. They were happy, and proud of themselves. They had felt prepared for whatever was ahead of them, but separation was not on their minds. Ed had been twenty, and Al was nineteen. That was one year ago.

Ed stood at attention in the middle of the village with the rest of the men. He was ordered to look for any villagers that were hiding in the houses, and to interrogate them until they said if they had or hadn't been storing weapons for the Germans.

"If any of them cause you trouble, show them who's in charge."

Ed had never been very fond of his commander, and this was one of the reasons. He was a cold hearted man, and only cared for his own well being and success. Ed scowled at him now, ashamed to be under command of such a terrible person.

Nonetheless, he began to carry out his orders. He was assigned to searching the northwest side of the village with Michaels. They split up the blocks, and Ed went from house to house examining the different floors. He reached the third house on his second block when he paused. The door was open, and the windows were boarded heavily. Ed made sure his gun was loaded, and held it tight to his chest. His boots clicked on the cement steps, which were cracked deeply down the middle. The floors creaked underneath his feet as he walked around the first floor. He didn't see anyone in particular, but the refrigerator was standing even though there was an explosion in the wall next to it.

The stairs were falling and broken, he had to jump every few steps. Nevertheless, he reached the top. He turned to face the middle of the room, and saw a huddled group of children. Ed hung his head. "What's your name?" He asked. There was no reply, so he assumed that they didn't speak English. "It might just be best to end it for them right now. What would you do, Alphonse?"

Suddenly, Ed felt a hard thump on the back of his head. His vision went a little off when he felt a second large thump. Blotches of black filled his vision. He turned around before the third thump, and grabbed behind him. The person had been hitting him with a wooden bat. Ed flipped the bat so he held it in his right hand. He raised it high in the air, ready to strike with all his strength. For a split second, Edward saw his victim and attacker. He froze in place, shaking.

She stood to about three or four feet high. Her hair was held up in a bun at the top, and an apron was tied neatly around her waist. She stood bravely in front of him, fearing nothing. Her eyes were as cold as his – something he rarely saw anymore. However, there was a warmth to them. It told you that she was the kind of person you'd want to have on your good side, because she'd protect you until she died.

"Hit me, soldier." She spoke with only a hint of sarcasm. Besides that there was no emotion. Ed lost his grip on the wooden bat. It clanked on the floor, and everyone was silent as it settled itself on the creaky wood. Ed fell to his knees and hung his head. He stared at his hands., his vision still a little fuzzy. He slowly reached one hand out and placed it on the old lady's shoulder. She was unwavering, while he constantly quivered.

"Grandma Pinako..." Ed whispered to himself. He had come upon Winry's grandmother, her other self. He had seen a few others from his world, but he never expected to meet someone during the war.

"Hey, what are you low-lives doing here?" Ed's eyes rounded, and he turned, spreading his arms around Pinako.

"Michaels, _no!_" He shouted, but it was too late. Michaels shot his gun around the walls. The children cowered down and screamed, Pinako shouted.

"Get down! He's-" Ed tried to explain, but he was cut off. Pinako stumbled, and blood dripped from her left leg. Ed's eyes widened. "Get out of here, you need to leave!" He demanded, Pinako nodded. Ed turned to Michaels. "Stop it!" Michaels ceased shooting.

"Why should I?" He whispered. "They don't _need _to live. They're just in the _way._" Michaels laughed under his breath. Ed slowly reached his hand into his pocket and rose to his feet.

"They're innocent people. They have nothing to hide. Killing them doesn't do anyone good." Ed replied, even though he wasn't sure Michaels understood. _Did he breathe in some gas? _Ed wondered.

"My parents were innocent. _I _was innocent. _They_ weren't. Why do we have to be? Hmh?" Michaels chuckling became louder.

"You're going mad, Michaels." Ed tried to reason with his comrade. "Come back to yourself, you're not making any sense." With each sentence Ed got a little closer to the man. His legs were stiff, unwavering, heavy.

"_Mad? _I'm _mad?_ Is that what you say, Elric? Oh no, I'm not mad. Only a little excited. How could I _not _be excited with so much going on, so much at stake? Tell me this, Elric. Isn't it amazing to have the welfare of so many at the tips of your fingers? I could kill you all right now. Oh yes, I could very easily. I could end your lives." Michaels hiccuped, and continued laughing louder and louder. His eyes became wet, and he blinked rapidly.

"You wouldn't do that, Michaels."

"But how can you be sure? With a firearm, man has the ability to do something he never would otherwise. You would never beat someone's bone out of there skull, and yet I've done so. Oh yes, I watched the man scream as his own body practically turned inside-out. I would have never done that before, but this has _changed _me."

"But do you want to be the kind of person who does that, Michaels?" Ed questioned.  
"It doesn't matter anymore, Elric. We aren't people out here. We're animals!" Michaels rolled his head around his shoulders. "We're hairy beasts of blood and violence! Nothing more, _Elric!_" He sneered at Ed's name. His cackling thundered through the house. Tears streamed down his eyes, wetting the dirt and grime on his face. His hiccuping became faster and more distinct, and he twitched with every movement. He raised his gun to his hip and lodged the aim in front of him. "I'm going to _kill _you now! I'm-"

Michaels choked. Ed had lodged his army knife and wrist into Michaels' gut. He felt the inside flesh collapse upon itself, and winced at the grotesque feeling. Reluctantly, Ed twisted the blade and dug it deeper. Michaels screeched. Spit and blood showered from his mouth and dropped onto Edward. Michaels raised his gun and rammed it into Ed's skull. Edward's arm was yanked out of the man's fleshed, and he tumbled and sprawled across the floor. His vision hazy, Ed raised his head and watched his predator. Blood gushed from his wound as Michales squalled, but Ed couldn't hear it. His head was ringing above the noise of the chaos. The man attempted to cover the gap in his flesh with his hands, but blood seeped through the openings.

Ed knew how he felt. His insides were stinging from contact with the air. Michaels could probably feel his own guts gushing around, mixing themselves within one another. What Ed hadn't noticed was that Michaels had grabbed his own knife from his back pocket. He slowly advanced toward Ed, who found himself unable to move. Ed struggled, but it wasn't visible. To the children it seemed at if he was accepting his fate, lying stationary on the hard wooden floor.

Michaels was standing above Edward, he yelled a shout of agonized victory as the knife descended upon Ed; who closed his eyes. He waited for the pain, the sudden and final throb of his heart. But it didn't come. Ed opened his eyes to see Michaels still standing above him. His eyes had gone blank, and he dropped the knife. He no longer gasped for breath or held his wound. He stood completely stationary, then collapsed on top of Ed.

Edward winced as the weight inflicted an abnormally large amount of pain. He attempted to squirm out from under the still bleeding, and now rotting, body. Each inch took an eternity, and Ed could feel the now cold blood still flowing onto his back, causing shivers to run up his spine like snakes. The feeling in his arms returned, and Ed used them to squirm out from under the body. Once free, Ed rolled onto his back and coughed and gasped for air. When he was breathing normally, Ed left the world, and entered a place of peace and rest. He did not dream of prancing in fields or being a child again, for that took too much energy. He simply enjoyed his brief time of sleep for what it was.

Ed opened his eyes and senses to the smell of blood and broken skin. Slowly turning his head, feeling his muscles stretch beyond his current capability, Ed saw Michaels beside him. He rested on his face and chest, his head turned abnormally far to the side – facing Ed. His eyes were gray, empty of expression. His mouth hung open, showing blood that was still wet from his saliva.

Ed forced his arms to hoist him onto his knees. He inched himself toward Michaels until he was just above him. He almost looked like he was sleeping from the back. Then Ed turned him over, and the gash was revealed in his stomach. His insides looked like a cave, crumbled and cracked. Ed had to turn away before he became entranced by guilt.

_Michaels, one of the men in my company, went insane. I had to finish the job. It was hard, Al. It'll be a while before the hole in my throat goes away this time. I didn't know him very well, but he was a good guy._

_Old Grandma Pinako was in one of the houses I had to inspect. Michaels shot her, but she lived. I wish I could have talked to her, but I couldn't find the heart to after the pain I put her through. The doctors of the military helped her with the injury, but I'm sure I caused her more trouble than meets the eye. _

_I'm hoping we'll see each other again soon, Alphonse. It's been hard being alone. _


	3. Chapter 3

Alphonse had become regarded as, more or less, a hero among his comrades. His last more-than-close escape from the enemy's own base had earned him quite the title. It did boost his confidence, but other than that he was the same as before. More than anything, Alphonse missed his brother. The letters he had received from Edward were usually depressing and full of violence and tragedy. How could they not be? Happy things rarely happened as a soldier, and when they did they weren't considered a pleasure to anyone that wasn't in serious suffering.

At the moment, Al and his fellow soldiers were attempting to attack and destroy three turrets set up in trenches a few miles away from the town they had recently taken over. Al plowed through the different soldiers. He was deep in thought that day, so deep he wasn't very focused on what was going on. His body had gone through routine and kill so many times he moved instinctively. He reached the first miniature encampment and turret and waited there for the men with the explosives.

They arrived, and Al dived away and plugged his ears, waiting for the effects of the explosives the burn in his ears and dust to fly in his eyes. It went as he expected, and Al was forced to move on and continue fighting his way through the enemy. He knew in his mind that the Germans stood no chance against them, but he still did his best to help.

Time seemed to pass without Al knowing it as all of the small bases were taken over. Over what seemed like seconds but was probably half an hour, Al's friends and comrades stood comfortably, proud of their accomplishment. Many of the men searched boxes and crates for food and supplies, while others grabbed a cigarette. "Want a smoke?" One of the men asked Al. He looked down and saw a soldier with gray hair and a cigar in his mouth.

"I don't smoke." Al replied.

"Really? Surprised you haven't gone insane." The old man joked.

"What do you mean?" Al replied. The man chuckled in a sly way.

"Smoking calms the mind. Otherwise you're on edge, anxious." Al nodded. "You sure you don't wanna try one?" Al thought for a moment.

"Maybe just one." He replied. The man smiled, and handed him a cigar. Al held it as it was lit by the soldier. He raised the cigarette to his mouth, and sucked in, not quite sure what he was doing. Al felt smoke fill his mouth and lungs, and he began coughing and hacking. His comrade began laughing, saying, "Having some problems there?" After he recovered, Al took another smoke, being more careful this time. He held his breath for a moment and then puffed out. A flare of smoke filled the air around him.

"You'll want another soon." Al didn't believe it, but he smiled in thanks anyway.

Suddenly, bullets whizzed past Al's head. His helmet flew off his head, and he dropped to the ground and covered his head with his arms. The cigar flew through the air and landed behind him. Doing the army crawl, Al reached for his gun. He pulled it tight to his chest and slowly got up from his knees.

"We need to get out of here!" Al called to the man who had offered him a cigar. Then he noticed that red covered the base of his helmet. He had been shot. Alphonse looked down so he didn't have to take in the sight.

Al got up to his feet and began to run through the trenches. He kept his back arched his low but his feet had a strong stride. He met up with one of his friends and called to him. "What's going on?"  
"The German bastards are attacking." Parker relplied.

"What are our chances?"

"Close to zero. Retreating is a definite. We just need to wait for the leaders to figure out what's going on and we'll be given the order." Parker explained. Al nodded. "Come on Elric, let's knock out as many as possible before we tuck our tails in."

"Right!"

The two friends crawled through the trenches, and exited behind a set of trees and bushes. There they shot as many Germans as they could before they had to move. They shifted to some tall grass and laid down to shoot. Again they had to move. The Germans were among them now, and they constantly had to fight through the enemy. Al turned around to check on Parker, and saw him stumble and fall far behind him. Al ran back and shot a German soldier that had been standing over his friend. The German collapsed on top of Parker, and Al continued running. He cowered down onto his knees and bent low over the body. Al shoved the dead opponent off of his friend and listened to Parker's heart beat. It was faint, but distinct nonetheless.

"I need a medic!" Al called out. "Come on, _Medic__!_"

After a short wait, Al constantly on edge, a medic arrived. He tended to Parker and got another medic to help carry the man out. Alphonse watched his friend leave, worry covering his face.

Putting his attention back into the battle, Al noticed how much his side was suffering. Men were being shot left and right, and the German's were advancing. It wouldn't be much more time before the enemy would begin marching towards the town—if that was their plan.

Al stood up and charged a German who had been at his right and bashed his head with the base of his gun. The German's body fell like a puppet who's strings had been dropped. He lay mangled in the grass. Next, Al took out his knife and slipped behind a large set of trees and bushes. He came across an enemy sniper. The opponent didn't notice Al, who slowly crept up behind him. In one motion, Al tightly gripped the mans shoulder and rammed his knife into the base of the man's spine, flesh gurgling and blood streaming down the wound. With his left hand, Al covered the man's mouth tightly as he screamed in agony. Quickly, before the suffering man could attract unwanted attention, Al twisted his right arm and the soldier coughed blood into Al's hand. His body then went cold, and Al quietly dropped him onto the ground, the body landing with only a small thud – like dropping a pillow onto soft grass.

Al heard soft shuffling of feet behind him, and turned around just in time to block the rusted blade of a German soldier's knife. Pieces of brown rust fell onto Al's face. He was thankful that none of it got in his eyes, for that would have proved fatal. Instead, Alphonse twisted his blade to the right, knocking his opponents hand away. He then thrusted his blade towards the stomach, but had to change his positioning to block a blow to his own body. Al kicked at the man's knee, which caused him to buckle and fall. He landed on his own knife and screamed. He dug his fingers into the earth until his nails bled, and his mouth instinctively bit down and he swallowed dirt. This caused him to choke and gag while his feet kicked at stones and sent them flying.

Al knelt down over the man's wriggling and screeching body, and placed his hands over his ears. Al closed his eyes and twisted. The man's neck only needed a small jerk for his muscles to relax and for the tension to release. His chest ceased to heave up and down, and his fingers stopped burrowing, and his eyes didn't flinch.

Al quivered. He couldn't take his hands off of the man. Quakes and spasms covered his arms and legs, and Al began to cry. He didn't really know why, and yet he did. It had something to do with the fact he had killed a man, taken a life. He had done it with his own two hands. It was different than killing with a weapon—somehow it was different.

Al wiped the tears from his eyes and stood, his chest heaving with grief. About five to seven Germans could be heard running towards the noise of the man Al had killed.

"Retreat!" Al heard being called behind him. He turned and ran, throwing a grenade at the men coming his way all the while. He counted down the seconds and suddenly a humongous explosion blew behind him, sending him flying a few feet. He turned and said to himself that it couldn't have been caused by _his_ grenade. He heard shouts, cheers, and whistles coming from his friends.

"It's Mustang!" Al's ear twitched at the notion of the familiar name. He assumed it a coincidence for the moment, but knew that coincidences rarely happened to him.

"We can do this!"

"Call off the retreat!"

Al didn't know what happened, except that they now had a huge advantage on their side of some sort. Al charged, and cocked his gun. He shot wildly, but true, and attacked the enemy. Ideas and thoughts swirled around his head, questions that he refused to answer. His brain was confused and weak, but his body was strong. So he let his mind wonder and let his consciousness dive into the depths and deepest crevices of his mind. At this point, it wasn't his thoughts that controlled his actions, but an instinct that moved his muscles and joints. He didn't need to focus on what to do. Everything just came to him naturally.

Al felt almost too tired to think, but we can't really stop thinking—no matter how hard we try.

After a while, which seemed like an eternity of fighting, Al and his fellow men were chasing off the few remaining Germans. Al rested his back against a tree, and slowly sunk down. He reached for his water canteen with shivering hands, weak from hunger and fatigue. As he drank, a figure dashed passed him. Time seemed to slow as Al was able to catch a glimpse of the man's face. His hair was black, and his face stern. He held a grenade in his right hand, and his pistol in the other.

Al had guessed the when people mentioned 'Mustang' they may have been talking about the same man Al knew in the other dimension. However, that didn't stop the shock from seeing an old face again. Al lowered the canteen from his lips, and bits of water dripped down his uniform. He didn't notice. Roy Mustang slowed and threw his grenade at the enemy. It landed in front of four men who had been running in a group. They were blown in different directions, their bodies tumbling through the air. Mustang smiled and turned to Al.

"Mind if I have a drink of that?" He asked. Al nodded, dumbfounded, and handed him the canteen. Roy emptied two gulps of water into his mouth, then sighed. "Good stuff." He commented, then handed the container back to Al, who took it. "What's wrong with you, boy? Looks like you've seen a ghost." Al snapped back to his senses and replied.

"You have no idea." Mustang chuckled.

"Well that was a good run, agree?"

"A good run? You saved us." Al corrected. Mustang nodded. "Does get the spirit going, though—to see a miracle like that."

"I don't know if you'd call it that." Roy explained.

"About the best we're going to get around here." Al explained.

"Very true." Roy agreed. There was a short pause, and he added. "I like you kid. What's your name?"

"Alphonse Elric—brother of Edward Elric." Mustang grunted.  
"I've heard of you. You're the kid who just got out of the enemies grasp. Dived back to his men with fifty Germans on his ass."

"I don't know if it was that many." Al interrupted. He was humble, and always had been.

"Yeah the facts do get jumbled in tales like your own... But Edward Elric... I've never known that name." Roy looked up, probably thinking back.  
"No, I suppose not. I guess I was hoping you had. You see we've been apart for a long time."

"I see. It's not right for family to be split up, even from war. You two the only sons?" It took a moment for Al to understand the reasoning behind the question.  
"Yes, but our parents are both dead. Our father left us and our mother passed from sickness because of it. Then our father was killed." Al hung his head. Ed had always detested Hoenheim, but Al had always felt something for the scoundrel.

"I can tell you've been through a lot. Do you and your brother exchange letters?"

"Yes, but it always takes a while for them to get back and forth. It's hard for messengers to carry letters from one section of the army to the next. Sometimes the letters get lost or the carrier is killed, so we don't hear much from one another." Al spoke the absolute truth. Though he was didn't care for sharing his troubles, the fact that he couldn't communicate with Edward had always deeply troubled him.

"That's a real shame." Mustang gave their conversation a suitable pause. Then he began to leave with, "Well, I'm Lieutenant Colonel Roy Mustang—if you haven't already heard of me." He straightened himself with the last remark.

"No, I haven't." Al replied. Roy began to laugh.  
"Well that's a first." He said, still chuckling heartily.


End file.
